


one hundred ways to say "I love you"

by Rivendell101



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sweet Pea is Bad at Feelings, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivendell101/pseuds/Rivendell101
Summary: It's what's left unsaid that matters most.In which Sweet Pea and the reader say "I love you" without ever saying it at all.





	1. Prompt List

One Hundred Ways to Say ‘I Love You’

  1. “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.”
  2. “It reminded me of you.”
  3. “No, no, it’s my treat.”
  4. “Come here. Let me fix it.”
  5. “I’ll walk you home.”
  6. “Have a good day at work.”
  7. “I dreamt about you last night.”
  8. “Take my seat.”
  9. “I saved a piece for you.”
  10. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
  11. “You can have half.”
  12. “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”
  13. “Sorry I’m late.”
  14. “Can I have this dance?”
  15. “I made your favorite.”
  16. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
  17. “Watch your step.”
  18. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”
  19. “Can I hold your hand?”
  20. “You can borrow mine.”
  21. “You might like this.”
  22. “It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”
  23. “I’ll wait.”
  24. “Just because.”
  25. “Look both ways.”
  26. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
  27. “Try some.”
  28. “Drive safely.”
  29. “Well, what do you want to do?”
  30. “One more chapter.”
  31. “Don’t worry about me.”
  32. “It looks good on you.”
  33. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”
  34. “That’s okay, I bought two.”
  35. “After you.”
  36. “We’ll figure it out.”
  37. “Can I kiss you?”
  38. “I like your laugh.”
  39. “Don’t cry.”
  40. “I made this for you.”
  41. “Go back to sleep.”
  42. “Is this okay?”
  43. “I picked these for you.”
  44. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
  45. “What do you want to watch?”
  46. “You can go first.”
  47. “Did you get my letter?”
  48. “I’ll do it for you.”
  49. “Call me when you get home.”
  50. “I think you’re beautiful.”
  51. “Are you sure?”
  52. “Have fun.”
  53. “Sit down, I’ll get it.”
  54. “I made reservations.”
  55. “I don’t mind.”
  56. “It brings out your eyes.”
  57. “There is enough room for both of us.”
  58. “You don’t have to say anything.”
  59. “Wow.”
  60. “Happy birthday.”
  61. “I’ll pick it up after work.”
  62. “It can wait until tomorrow.”
  63. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
  64. “It’s two sugars, right?”
  65. “I’ll help you study.”
  66. “Stay over.”
  67. “I did the dishes.”
  68. “You didn’t have to ask.”
  69. “I bought you a ticket.”
  70. “You’re warm.”
  71. “No reason.”
  72. “I’ll meet you halfway.”
  73. “Take mine.”
  74. “We can share.”
  75. “I was just thinking about you.”
  76. “I want you to have this.”
  77. “Call me if you need anything.”
  78. “Do you want to come too?”
  79. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”
  80. “Is your seatbelt on?”
  81. “Sweet dreams.”
  82. “I was in the neighborhood.”
  83. “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
  84. “The key is under the mat.”
  85. “It doesn’t bother me.”
  86. “You’re important too.”
  87. “I saved you a seat.”
  88. “I’ll see you later.”
  89. “I noticed.”
  90. “You can tell me anything.”
  91. “I hope you like it.”
  92. “I want you to be happy.”
  93. “I believe in you.”
  94. “You can do it.”
  95. “Good luck.”
  96. “I brought you an umbrella.”
  97. “I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
  98. “Take a deep breath.”
  99. “Be careful.”



And…

100\. “I love you.”


	2. #5 "I'll walk you home."

You glance over Toni’s head at the clock on the wall, only half-aware of Jughead’s story as you realizes how late it’s getting. The Wyrm is crowded at just after midnight, Friday night bleeding into Saturday, and as much as you’d like to stay and drink with your friends, you know you can’t, not tonight.

Toni and Betty burst into giggles at whatever Jughead is saying, and you snap back to attention, a fond smile pulling at your lips as you look around the booth you’ve all squeezed into, your friends in various states of inebriation. Jughead’s arms move wildly as he continues his story, movements big and sloppy after two beers, and Betty is practically molded against his side, biting her lip to keep from bursting into hysterics as she plays with her own empty bottle. Toni is curled in her seat beside them, nursing a drink and significantly less drunk than the others. Fangs has an elbow propped against the table across from the three, a drunk, dopey smile on his face as he stares at Jughead, eyes blown wide at what the other male is saying, making you bite back an amused sound.

You lean back in your seat, shifting in the crowded booth, your side pressed tight against Sweet Pea’s, the two of you flush against each other so you can feel the laughter that rumbles through him at Jughead’s drunken state. He has one arm tossed over the back of the booth, his fingers barely brushing against the skin of your upper arm, making you shiver with every feather light touch. A beer bottle is cradled in his other palm, his grip loose and lazy as he relaxes into your side, more sober than not as he taps a pattern against the side of the bottle.

Sweet Pea’s fingers ghost against your skin again, lingering longer as his thumb drags along your skin in slow circles. You aren’t sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but you lean into him regardless, enjoying the warmth of his hand against your arm in your tipsy state. It’s not unusual for the two of you to touch like this, not really, but you’ve become increasingly aware of his skin against yours in recent weeks.

You lean your temple against his shoulder for just a moment, eyes slipping shut as you smile to yourself, Sweet Pea shifting slightly to better accommodate your position. It only lasts a moment before you again look at the clock, knowing you need to leave, but not wanting to move from the warmth you’ve wrapped yourself in, the happy glow surrounding your friends making you want to stay.

Eventually, you sigh, pulling yourself away from Sweet Pea as you slip from the booth, standing on slightly wobbly legs, aware of his eyes on you as you brush yourself off, grabbing your bag from the booth. “Well,” you cut in during a lull in Jughead’s story, everyone’s gazes flicking to you momentarily, “as fascinating as this story is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hear the end of it another time.” You send them all a smile, laughing when you receive varying responses of disappointment in response. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N, really?” Jughead slurs, grinning from the other end of the booth. “It’s not even that late yet!” 

You roll your eyes, an amused sound pulling from your throat. “Yes, really,” you stress, grinning at the five of them. Sweet Pea looks up at you with a small frown, his eyes narrowed slightly, but he doesn’t say anything as Jughead and Fangs grumble their displeasure. “I work the morning shift tomorrow,” you remind them, reaching passed Sweet Pea to snag an unopened bottle of beer from Fangs and handing it to Toni, “and I’d like to not show up with an obvious hangover.” 

“Just call in sick,” Fangs crows, eyes narrowing as Toni smirks at him, bringing the bottle to her lips.

You snort, shaking your head. “You guys are terrible influences,” you tell them, voice thick with affection. You glance at Toni, knowing she’ll likely have to deal with drunken foursome later tonight, but she only waves you away, grinning widely in response. You look over the five of them again, gaze lingering on Sweet Pea as your eyes lock. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, more to him than anyone else.

Sweet Pea surprises you when he slides out of the booth behind you, leaving Fangs alone on your side of the booth. “I’ll walk you home,” he murmurs, low and throaty. He slips his hands into his pockets, close enough that you have to crane your neck to look him in the eyes, the scent of his cologne crawling through your senses and making you dizzy.

Your amused smile slips into something softer as you shake your head. “Sweets, you don’t have to do that,” you tell him, not wanting him to go out of his way to take you home. He talked a big game earlier about hustling some of the older Serpents at pool tonight, and you don’t want to take him away from that.

He only stares back down at you, expression more open and honest than you’ve ever seen him. “I know,” he responds, something fond in his eyes. He takes another step towards you, barely brushing against you, close, but not close enough, and it makes you wonder if the shiver that runs up your spine is what anticipation feels like.

The others are staring at the two of you now, but neither of you notice, too wrapped up in each others’ gazes to notice anything else as the clock ticks to a quarter past midnight. One of his hands leaves his pockets, his fingers sliding across the bare skin of your arm as you sway on your feet, tipsy, but entirely aware of everything around you.

“Don’t end your night early on my account,” you whisper, softer than you mean to, eyes searching his.

He shakes his head, lips quirking into a smile. “Y/N,” he practically breathes back to you, “let me walk you home.”

You open your mouth, not entirely sure what you mean to say, but any protest you might have had dies before they can leave your mouth. “Okay.” His smile widens, fingertips sliding down the inside of your arm until his fingers find yours.


	3. #95 "Good luck."

“Think I should go easy on them?” Sweet Pea jokes from where he’s leaning against the bar beside you, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his mouth curls into a smile.  “Give them at least a little chance?” You follow his gaze across the Wyrm to the pair of pool players from Greendale. They’d showed up earlier in the week looking for a match, and it’s turned into something of a spectacle since.

It’s no secret that Sweet Pea is one of the best billiards players on the Southside of Riverdale, if not the entire town, and ever since that news has spread, there’s been the occasional challenger from out of town looking for a good game. The Greendale men are nothing new, not really anyway.

Except that they’re _good_. Really good. Especially compared to some of the people you’ve seen in the Wyrm lately. They have nearly ten years of playing on Sweet Pea and Fangs and they’ve won a few local competitions in Greendale and Centerville. Nothing fancy, but it’s nothing to scoff at either.

“Don’t get cocky, Sweets,” you chastise lightly, eyes narrowing at the men. “They’re good.” You glance up at him, tilting your chin to meet his eyes when he straightens beside you, frowning down at you. “Maybe even better than you,” you joke, a grin pulling at your lips.

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, but his irritation of offset by the fond look in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Sweet Girl,” he murmurs back to you thumb absently brushing down your bare arm, “I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” His lips quirk at the edges at the familiar nickname. It’s one you’ve had for years now, and one that started as a joke more than anything else.

Back when you first started coming to the Wyrm, some of the older Serpents started referring to you as “Sweet’s Girl”, a name that’s stuck with you in all of the years you’ve known him. He’s modified the name for himself, but plenty of the Serpents still refer to you by the name. It’s something you’ve gotten used to after being friends with the tall, angry, loyal to a fault Serpent for so long.

You snort slightly. “Oh, I bet you will.” You twist around on your stool, turning to face him directly, a teasing grin spreading across your lips at his raised brow, Sweet Pea’s expression almost offended.

“You don’t believe me?” He leans in closer to you, dark eyes bright with something mischievous. His fingers trail lower down your arm, goosebumps left in his wake. Sweet Pea wets his mouth, his gaze flicking down to your lips briefly before jumping back up, his gaze more questioning than anything else.

Across the bar, Fangs calls out to Sweet Pea, beckoning him towards the pool table that’s been set up when Sweet Pea glances over his shoulder at their friend. A dozen younger Serpents are crowded around the table to watch the games, one of them, Isaac, holding the pool cue that Sweet Pea typically uses. The players from Greendale are already there, watching Sweet Pea from across the room, neither appearing fazed by the jeering of the younger Serpents around them.

Sweet Pea rises to his full height beside you, sobering when he sees how calm the other pair is. “Hey,” you start firmly, catching his fingers with yours and giving him a quick squeeze. Sweet Pea’s gaze flicks back to you, his brows narrowed, though he softens slightly when you send him a reassuring smile. “I’ve seen you hustle the best players at the Wyrm a dozen times,” you remind him, playing with one of the rings on his fingers, “these assholes aren’t going to know what hit them.” Fangs calls out to Sweet Pea again, but he doesn’t react, too lost in you to pay Fangs any mind. “Now go kick some ass,” you demand, releasing his hand and giving him a little shove towards Fangs.

He returns your grin, pushing off the counter though he doesn’t go far. He turns so he’s standing in front of you, sliding up to your barstool and slipping between your legs easily as he places his hands on top of the bar, boxing you in as he leans down, breath hot against the side of your neck. The counter digs into your back as he curves into you, pining you between him and the bar. “You gonna give me a kiss for luck, Sweet Girl?” he asks in a low, rough voice that sends a shiver down your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“After all that talk?” you whisper back, fingers dragging along his chest before curling around his dog tags, dragging him down just an inch closer, hardly any space left between the two of you. You glance at his mouth, Sweet Pea’s expression almost smug as he stares down at you. “I don’t think you need it.” Your eyes snap back to his, peeking up at him through your lashes.

A low sound that’s practically a groan leaves him. “A little luck doesn’t hurt,” he tells you, practically breathing the words back and allowing you to pull him into you. There’s something honest about his eyes, something so sincere that you have to look away and brush it off.

You only laugh, hand suddenly flat against his chest as you push him back. “All right, Casanova,” you tease, smiling up at him as you force him a step back, Fangs calling out again, this time telling Sweet Pea to “hurry the fuck up!”. “The competition awaits,” you remind him.

He looks almost disappointed as you lean away from him, but it’s gone as suddenly as it was there, so you brush it off as a mere trick of the light. He glances back at Fangs sighing as he pushes off the bar top, leaving you for now. Sweet Pea takes a step back, but stops again, looking down at you. “You’re going to be watching, right?”

You smile. “Don’t I always?”

* * *

 

You bite your lip to hold back a smile as Sweet Pea sinks another shot, his eyes never once leaving yours as he does. He’s showing off, you know, making the game look easier than it really is. He’s always been good at making 8-ball look easy, which is how he’s scammed so many of the new initiates over the years you’ve known him.

Sweet Pea winks at you and you roll your eyes, shaking your head slightly. It only makes him grin wider, Sweet Pea wetting his lips as you cross your legs, your skirt hitching higher on your thighs. His dark eyes snap away from yours for only a second, darting down to the bare skin of your legs before jumping back up. He swallows, cocking his head to the side as he plants his pool cue on the floor, leaning against it as he watches you.

His dark eyes trace your features, his expression wolfish in a way that sends a shiver right up your spine, a pleasant tingle spreading and tugging low at your gut.

“Are you two done eye-fucking each other, or would you like us to clear out so you can bang on the billiards table?” Toni’s voice from the stool beside you snaps you back to awareness. You break eye-contact with Sweet Pea, practically ripping your gaze away from him to look at the smirking girl beside you.

You roll your eyes, used to her comments at this point. “We are not eye-fucking each other,” you deny, even though you can _feel_ his gaze dragging over you from across the room, drinking you in with long, slow looks.

Toni snorts loudly, taking a drink from the glass in her hands. “Well someone needs to tell him that, because he’s practically undressing you right now,” she muses. You don’t dare look at him this time and it only makes Toni smile wider. “Which is some seriously awesome duel-concentration, considering he’s also kicking ass at pool.” She frowns down at her drink, eyes narrowing. “Granted, if Sweet Pea is good at two things, they’re hustling people and getting girls to take off their clothes,” she murmurs, words slurring slightly, and you bite back a laugh. “Not that you’re any better. We all know you don’t even like pool, you just like the view of Sweets’ ass as he’s bent over the table,” she continues, making you choke on your laughter, “but seriously, when are you guys going to get over yourselves and just bang already?”

You frown back at her, watching as she squints and takes another long drink from her glass. “Toni, are you wine drunk?”

“I’m wine _tipsy_. And that’s beside the point.” She turns to you, leveling you with an utterly serious look that’s offset by the way she almost slips from her seat. Her hands settle on your shoulders, forcing you to meet her stern expression. “Listen, Honey, I love you. I do.” You nod along with her slowly, unsure where this is going. “And I love Sweet Pea. We all love you guys. But the overwhelming sexual tension that appears whenever you two are in a room together is kind of disgusting.”

You have to force back a smile. Drunk Toni is always surprisingly ridiculous. “I appreciate your honesty.”

“So why aren’t you going for it?” She asks it like it’s obvious, like it’s inevitable that it’ll happen. “You’re obviously desperate to get some,” she continues, ignoring the offense that flashes across your face, “he barely takes his fucking eyes off you, and you guys were practically making out an hour ago in front of everyone. Go fucking get some, Girl.”

You sigh as you shift out of her grasp, leaning back against the bar, suddenly exhausted. You and Sweet Pea have been playing a game for some months now, flirting more than you should, teasing each other, but never getting closer than you were earlier tonight.

Maybe it’s because you’re both cowards or maybe you just know better.

“He’s a player, Toni,” you say slowly, more venom in your words than you intended. The smile leaves you for the first time tonight, and you glance over at Sweet Pea, meeting his eyes quickly. The grin drops from his face as soon as he sees your expression, but you look away just as quickly, releasing a slow, shaky breath. “Like you said, he’s good at getting girls to take their clothes off. That’s how he’s always been.” He’s never been serious about anyone in all the time you’ve known him, and he’s always made it perfectly clear that he isn’t looking for a relationship. “And I’m not looking for a hookup, not with him.” You swallow down the lump in your throat, picking at the hem of your skirt. “I know better than to get my hopes up,” you whisper, more to yourself than to Toni.

She hears you anyway, suddenly seeming very sober as she looks at you. “Y/N,” she murmurs, reaching for one of your hands, voice a little sad and a little disappointed, in you or him you don’t know. You don’t think you _want_ to know.

“Sweets is the best,” you tell Toni, sending her a shrug and a smile that doesn’t even begin to reach your eyes. “I’m okay with how things are.”

Toni likes to joke that it was inevitable that you’d fall for him, like it was destiny. You’ve been attached at the hip since you met, aside from your second year of high school, when Riverdale had gone to shit and your mother got you the hell out of town and halfway across the country. Those were the worst few months of your life, back when you were ripped away from Sweet Pea and Toni and Fangs, back when you weren’t sure you would ever see them again.

It was like being pulled out from underwater when you saw them again, Toni practically sobbing when she saw you and Sweet Pea crushing you in a hug before you could say a word. You haven’t been that far apart since and if you and Sweet Pea have your way you never will.

He’s the one constant in your life and that terrifies you more than you’d ever admit out loud.

“What if _he’s_ not?”

Your head snaps up, something twisting in your gut. “What?”

Toni sends you a sad, tipsy smile. “I wish you could see the way he looks at you when you don’t notice,” she admits, swaying slowly in her seat, the glass in her hand now empty. She gives a heavy sigh. “It’s like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.” You can only stare, wide-eyed as she continues her drunk rambling, barely able to breathe. “He hasn’t even looked at other girls in months and…” Toni trails off, wrinkling her nose. “Sweet Pea practically swallows you with his eyes, you know.” She blinks at you, reaching over to pat your hand, lacing your fingers together comfortingly. “Sometimes, I’m surprised there’s any of you left for the rest of us to see.”

You don’t respond. You _can’t_ respond, unsure how much of Toni’s tipsy ramblings you should take to heart. She’s always been an honest person, even bluntly so, but she has a tendency to blow things out of proportion when she’s had too much to drink. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, heavy, and when your lips part all that leaves you is a wet crackling sound, your mouth unable to form words.

Toni’s expression is undeniably lucid when she sends you a small, encouraging smile, squeezing your fingers with hers again.

A shaky sound leaves you as you grip her back just as tightly. “Toni,” you breathe, “what—”

You’re cut off by a loud commotion coming from across the room, the younger Serpents speaking to each other rapidly. Fangs looks pale when you catch sight of him in the crowd, and Sweet Pea looks even worse. He looks almost confused as he stares down at the pool cue in his hand, as if he doesn’t understand what’s just happened.

“Holy shit,” Jughead murmurs from Toni’s other side, leaning forward on his stool as he looks at Sweet Pea as well.

“What just happened?” Toni asks him, disentangling your hands in order to twist around to face their other friend. She frowns at Jughead, gaze flicking between him and Sweet Pea in confusion for a moment, before she glances over her shoulder at you briefly.

You don’t return the look, watching as Sweet Pea runs a hand through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his eyes. The rings on his fingers catch the low light and flash from across the room. He looks more rattled than you’ve ever seen him before, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted slightly. Behind him, Fangs is whispering something, looking more concerned than anything else, and across the table the player from Greendale smiles a bit too widely, obviously pleased about something.

Jughead just shakes his head, almost in awe as he watches what’s going on across the room. “He missed the shot,” he murmurs to Toni, releasing a weak laugh and leaning back against the bar. Jughead runs a hand down the side of his face, shocked.

“What?” Toni snaps, eyes going wide as her head snaps around to look at Sweet Pea. “Sweets never _misses_ a shot!”

Jughead just shrugs. “Well, he just did.”

As if feeling your eyes on him, Sweet Pea’s head snaps up, his eyes locking with yours instinctively. There’s an odd look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before, and you mouth an “okay?” to him from your position at the bar. He gives a sharp nod and a smile, but his heart isn’t in it and you both know it.

He turns back to the game after another minute, but it only gets worse until suddenly Sweet Pea is losing for the first time in years. It’s something none of them have seen in a long time, and soon practically the entire bar is watching by the time the man from Greendale sinks two shots with ease, putting him ahead by a point.

It continues like that for some time. Sweet Pea can’t find the right angle to sink a shot and his opponent only seems to be getting better.

“Fuck,” Toni whispers, “I’ve never seen him off his game before.”

Jughead makes a low sound of agreement. “He’s not going to win the match. He’s rattled about something, you can tell. It would take a miracle to win.”

“Or a lot of luck,” Toni agrees, watching the game in the same way someone would watch a car crash, horrified but unable to tear her eyes away.

Your breath catches in your throat at Toni’s words, remembering Sweet Pea’s words from earlier. It’s stupid and you know you shouldn’t, because it’s stupid, really, but he’s losing and Toni’s words from earlier are still swirling through your head, and maybe you’re tired of being a coward.

There’s no such thing as luck, but if there is, he could definitely use a little now. He’s behind by three points, six balls on the table, including the 8-ball. If he doesn’t knock out the rest of his stripes with the next shot, there’s no way he’ll be able to win.

Sweet Pea leans over the table, lining up a shot—one that might be his last of the game—and without really thinking about it, you find yourself slipping from your stool and murmuring a quiet “fuck it” under your breath.

You tug your skirt back down your thighs as you steel yourself, taking a deep breath before practically storming across the room, ignoring Jughead and Toni calling after you in confusion.

Some of the younger Serpents look up as you get closer, nudging each other and whispering to themselves. You ignore them too, eyes on Sweet Pea only as you slip around the pool table, heels clicking across the hardwood floors.

“Stephen!” you call out when you’re close enough, the use of Sweet Pea’s real name catching more than a few people off guard.

Sweet Pea’s head snaps up at his name, his eyes widening slightly when he realizes you’re there. His grip on the pool cue tightens and he jerks in surprise, nearly bumping the cue-ball unintentionally. Fangs stares at you with wide eyes, looking lost as he glances between the two of you.

“Y/N?” Sweet Pea murmurs in confusion, eyes narrowing. “What are you—”

You don’t let him finish as you cross the small space between the two of you, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket and jerking him around. Sweet Pea crashes into you, his big hands grasping at your hips to keep both of you steady, and you yank him down to meet you, lips meeting his in a messy kiss.

His grip on you tightens in surprise and you can hear him inhale through his nose sharply, his entire body going tense beneath you before he suddenly sinks into your touch. One of his hands slinks around your waist, settling low on your back as he presses you to him, as if trying to make you slip beneath his ribcage. He holds you to him, fingers skimming the bare skin of your back where your shirt has ridden up, and you lean up on your toes to kiss him harder, still pulling him down to meet you halfway, though he comes willingly.

A loud, sharp whistle comes from somewhere behind you and you’re suddenly reminded of your audience, though you can’t bring yourself to care as you linger for a moment, drowning in the taste of him.

You pull back a moment later, dropping back to your heels and slowly loosening your grip on his jacket. Sweet Pea exhales against you, his breath warm against your face as he stares down at you, blinking rapidly. There are a million things you want to say to him in this moment, but you’re too breathless and when you meet his eyes each and every thought just disappears. There’s surprise there, confusion, but also something softer, something fond.

Eventually, your mouth moves, forming words through the hazy feeling you’ve settled into. “Good luck,” you whisper, lips brushing against his the two of you are still so close. He shivers against you, looking down at you like you’re something wonderful. You move to take a step back, to let him finish his game, but Sweet Pea’s grip on you is firm and he pulls you impossibly closer, forehead pressing to yours as his mouth brushes against yours teasingly.

“One more for luck,” he mumbles, dragging you back up to meet him.

And if he wins the game it’s only because of luck.


	4. #30 "One more chapter."

It’s a quarter to one in the morning when a long, low creaking sound drags you from your half-asleep state. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so it’s no surprise that you wake several times throughout the night, awoken by someone else moving in the house, or a stray sound from outside. What’s awoken you now is familiar, and it isn’t the rain pouring outside, it’s the soft click of your window as it’s opened from the outside, the soft squeal as it’s dragged upwards.

You roll onto your back, sitting up on your elbows as you squint towards the window, only a thin sliver of light coming in and illuminating the room. Groping blindly for the lamp beside your bed, you frown at the dark shadow in your room, knowing who it is without even having to see them. 

“Sweets?” you mumble, still groggy with sleep. It isn’t the first time he’s crawled into your room late at night, far from it, but usually he calls first, not wanting to scare you like he had the first time. “What are you doin’ here?” you continue when he doesn’t respond, finally finding the light and flicking it on.

Sweet Pea winces at the harsh light and you sit up straighter with a gasp, any sleep still clinging to you disappearing as soon as you see the bruises forming on his knuckles and his face. His left eye is already swollen in what you know will be a nasty bruise, and another is forming along the curve of his jaw, evidence of a vicious fight.

“What happened?” You move to slip from your bed, but he only shakes his head, the look he sends you stopping you before you can move. There’s something desperate in his expression that you’ve only seen a few times in all the years you’ve known him, something melancholy and vulnerable that he doesn’t like to show. Sweet Pea clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering right out of his mouth, his hair damp from the rain. 

You watch as he stands by the window, trembling and looking a little lost, water soaking into the worn carpet beneath his feet. He isn’t going to answer you and you know that, at least not right now, and that’s okay. He can take all of the time he needs.

Slowly, you throw back the blanket on your bed, patting the empty space beside you as you slip to one edge of the bed, the narrow space not allowing you much room. “Come here,” you whisper, voice suddenly loud in the quiet room. 

Sweet Pea blinks back at you for a moment, still not moving, but when you send him a small smile he releases a shaky breath and lets the rain-slicked leather jacket slip from his shoulders, his flannel following after and pooling on the floor. He toes off his boots, movements stiff and sluggish. He’s favoring his right side and that worries you, but you don’t mention it yet.

Slowly, he crosses the room towards you, slipping onto the bed beside you and wrapping you up in his arms without so much as a word. His damp hair presses against the side of your neck, making you shiver, and your bare legs tangle with his under the sheets instinctively.

“You’re freezing,” you mumble as his arms loop around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. He sighs against you, lips against your shoulder, and you reach behind you, finding a tattered book with ease, knowing what he needs right now.

You pull the worn and well-loved copy of A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh from the nightstand. The book is older than you are, one your mother bought before your oldest brother was born. It’s dog-eared in places, pages falling out of the cracked spine, and your mother’s signature in the back has faded with age, but it still smells like home to you.

The first time Sweet Pea slipped your window upset like this, you hadn’t known what to do, but the book was there, where it always is, and you were reading before you realized it, the old, familiar stories lulling you both to sleep easily. Maybe it’s the nostalgia of the stories or the wide-eyed innocence of the characters, but the stories make things better. They always have.

“Should I start from the beginning?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Sweet Pea nods, squeezing your hip gently in a silent thank you. You flip open the front cover, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Chapter one,” you begin, “ ‘Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin.’ ” You both sink into the familiar words that you’ve heard a hundred times, you lips brushing against his temple as you speak. “ ‘It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think about it.’ ”

Sweet Pea slowly relaxes as you read to him, his harsh breaths evening out as his entire body softens against you. One of his hands finds yours as you flip a page, your fingers intertwining carefully. It’s a tight fit, the bed small and not meant for someone as tall as Sweet Pea, but you make it work, the two of you anchored in place with your legs wound together and his arms curled tight around your waist. You’re half-sitting against the headboard as you read, bent low over the book with Sweet Pea’s face buried against your neck, his breathing rhythmic as you move through the chapters in the book, voice barely a whisper as you read to him.

It should be uncomfortable, the two of you squished together like this, but it’s familiar and warm with you two tangled together under the blanket, his free hand tracing nonsensical shapes against your side beneath your shirt and you absentmindedly playing with his fingers as you flip through the pages, the second to last chapter nearly finished after what feels like hours have passed between you. 

“One more chapter?” he murmurs as your voice slows, the chapter coming to an end, speaking for the first time since he arrived. His breath tickles your bare shoulder, lips brushing against your arm.

Your thumb sweeps across his knuckles slowly, avoiding the familiar bruises on his hands and playing with his rings. Sweet Pea’s grip on you only tightens as he shifts against you. “One more chapter,” you agree as he tucks you under his chin, lowering you both to lie back against the mattress. One of your hands is still caught in his as he presses his lips to your temple, lingering there in something that isn’t quite a kiss. 

He breathes you in, nose buried in your hair and holds you closer. “Thanks, Sweet Girl,” he whispers, so softly you can barely hear him even in the silence of the room. He doesn’t say another word, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to, you already know.

“Chapter ten,” you start slowly, leaning into his touch, eyes heavy though you refuse to fall asleep, “ ‘In Which Christopher Robin Gives Pooh a Party and We Say Goodbye.’ ”


	5. #16 "It's okay. I couldn't sleep anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation of the last chapter.

It’s later, after the book is finished and placed back on the side-table behind you and the clock is ticking closer to three in the morning but neither of you can fall asleep, that you finally find your voice again. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you murmur to Sweet Pea, voice hoarse from reading to him aloud. You rest your temple against his collarbone, playing with his dog tags as his own fingers slip under your shirt to trace circles along your spine, writing love along your bare skin.

He doesn’t answer you, his hands going still for a long moment as he tenses. You wrap your legs closer around his, anchoring him in place, afraid he might start to drift away. Cold toes brush against his bare calf, leaving goosebumps in your wake, and he sighs, breath puffing against the crown of your head.

“Just Serpent business,” he murmurs back to you, voice low and throaty, the words muffled by your messy hair. His grip around you tightens, his fingers resuming their movements, and he curls around you in the darkness of the room, swallowing you whole. And you let him, but only for a moment.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, frowning up at him. His eyes are near black, the storm outside clouding out the last strands of moonlight slipping in through the cracks in the blackout blinds. You can’t read his expression like you could earlier, and that makes your frown deepen. You slide one hand up his chest, fingertips ghosting the bruising under his eye. He winces, but doesn’t flinch from your touch. “This looks like more than just business to me,” you whisper.

Sweet Pea sighs heavily, the tension leaving him in a rush as he nearly collapses against you. “It’s nothing” he promises, tilting his head to press a chaste kiss against your palm. It’s a lie and you both know it, but you allow him to pull you in closer, until there’s hardly any space left between you. His temple drops to rest against yours, and you trace the Serpent tattoo on his neck with a barely there touch. His fingers drag high on your back, dragging your shirt up higher as he spreads his fingers, taking in as much of your skin as he can.

You loosen your grip on his necklace, pressing your palm flat to his chest, feeling his strong, steady heartbeat beneath your touch. A part of you, the one that’s exhausted and being pulled away by the lull of sleep, wants to let it lie, to close your eyes and know that everything will be normal tomorrow. A larger part of you knows that if you don’t ask now, if you don’t listen now, no one will.

Sweet Pea has always been good at putting up walls and striking at anyone that gets too close. He’s a snake through and through, all venom and fangs, but you’ll take the chance of being bit because it’s him and how could you not?

“Was it the Ghoulies?” It comes out barely audible and when he stiffens you know you’re right. The thought of it makes you wince and curl yourself closer to him. They’ve been causing trouble for months now, but only recently has the violence reached a new height. 

Just last week a pair of younger Serpents, Cole and Isaac, were sent to the hospital after jumped. They were both fourteen. 

The thought of that happening to Sweet Pea terrifies you. He has a mouth on him and he doesn’t know when to stop sometimes, and it gets him into trouble more often than now. It would be easy for him to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and maybe you’d never see him again because of it. Sometimes you wonder if that scares him too, or if he’s more afraid of losing everyone else.

He sighs again, chuckling lowly, but there’s no humor to it. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?” he asks, leaning in so that his nose bumps against yours, his breaths mingling with yours until you can’t tell where one breath ends and the other begins.

“Not a chance.” You send him a smile and he’s so close that you can feel his own lips curve into a crooked grin. He doesn’t say anything else about the Ghoulies or the fight earlier in the night, but it’s enough. You don’t get his anger, which he’ll give to the Serpents, or the wounded pride that he’ll keep to himself. What you get is something softer, something breakable.

A blanket of silence stretches between the two of you, but it’s comfortable, the only noises in the room the rain and your breathing, the sound of his heartbeat beneath your touch. Eventually, he tucks you back under his chin, his hands warm against your back as you wind an arm around his neck, playing with the soft hairs at his nape.

“Why do you leave the window unlocked?” he asks you suddenly, and you can’t tell if it’s concern in his voice or something else entirely.

“Why do you crawl in through the window?” you counter. You already know, but you want to hear him say it. You want to know if a too small mattress and a tattered copy of A.A. Milne’s stories are home to him just as much as they are to you.

A wet crackling sound leaves him as his lips part, but he doesn’t answer right away, choosing his words carefully. “You make it better,” he settles on, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is.

“Make what better?”

He gives a slow, sleepy shrug and you drag your toes down his skin, making him shiver. “All of it,” he continues just as softly. “Serpent business. This fucked up town. Me.” Sweet Pea takes a deep breath, one that rattles through you both. “You make it all better.” His lips curve into a small smile against your hair, his calloused fingertips tracing soft shapes against your back. “I think you might be the best part of me.”

Your breath catches and you stiffen against him, your eyes going wide. “Sweet Pea.” You stop just as suddenly as you start, your throat going tight, your tongue thick and heavy in your mouth. 

You don’t know what to say to him, so you press a long, lingering kiss against his collarbone instead, holding yourself there before pressing a series of fleeting butterfly kisses against the same spot.

His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, one of his hands leaving your back to tangle in your hair, winding strands around his fingers. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” he mumbles halfheartedly.

You shake your head, a breathy laugh pulling from somewhere deep in your chest. “It’s okay,” you tell him, and it sounds a little bit like stay. Stay always. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”


End file.
